JAMIE BAIRD was one of
our Girvan Naturals in my boyhood's days, and was wont to accost the
postman with—"Hae ye ony letters for my faither the day?"—"No,
Jamie."—"Will ye hae ony the morn—a question which rather puzzled the
man of letters. Jamie Scott was another of the weakminded brotherhood.
On one occasion, he was summoned before a Commissioner on lunacy, who
was accompanied by Mr Matthew Scott, our Inspector of Poor, and a
staunch teetotaller. The Commissioner offered Jamie a dram, having heard
he was fond of it, but Jamie, suspecting a trap, sidled out, saying—"Na,
I 'm no for ony; but giet to Matthew there, he's the boy can nip it,"

Jock Aird, who died Dec,
1891, was the last of our Public Naturals. He was bora, as he died, in
the parish of Kirkmichael, but his wandering habits brought him under
the notice of all the mischievous boys in Carrick. His portrait is given
at the head of this paper. He used to be sorely tormented by the evil
disposed, but was accounted a privileged person by all else. His
appearance was unique, and his behaviour was in keeping with his
appearance. Small in stature, shabby in dress, but always wearing an aii
of refined conceit which proved an irresistible temptation to the boys,
Jock's appearance in the town was the invariable signal for a crowd.
"Chin," "Craw," "Nosey," were the opprobrious names with which he was
hailed, and which soon raised Jock to the boiling point. He would stop,
threaten, flourish his stick, run after one or two of the more
conspicuous, appeal to the passers-by to be relieved of his
tormentors—but all to no purpose. He got no peace till he left the town
again.

I remember once assisting
at a concert in Dalrymple Parish School to aid in providing Jock with a
suit of clothes. Jock's part in the programme was a tune on a board
which he called a fiddle, with a stick for a bow, and which he went
through with all the gravity imaginable, wiping the sweat off his brow
afterwards in the most approved fiddler fashion. Jock's dress was
peculiar. For one thing, there was always a dress hat, not only for
gentility, but also for convenience in stowing, away the bread and
cheese he received on his travels. When very excited, however, Jock
would take off his hat and kick it, regardless of its contents. His
coat, again, was usually a policeman's old one, although it was not
allowable to call Jock's attention to this, as he counted that an insult

One of Jock's unfailing
characteristics was his sense of politeness. Even in the heat of
passion, if any one went up to him, and offered to shake hands, the
courtesy at once disarmed him, and Jock was profuse in his bows and
acknowledgments. On my last visit to him, the first thing he did, after
saluting me, was to go up to a man who was sitting with his cap on, and
remove it, pointing significantly to me as his reason for doing so.

Jock also prided himself
on his wit, although this usually consisted merely of certain plays on
words. "Is your watch gaun the day, Jock?" Hoo can it be gaun when I'm
carryin' it? Ha, ha. I 'm in ye noo." On one occasion, the minister of
Coylton having said that "it was twenty minutes to three o'clock," Jock
pulled out his old watch-dial, set the string carefully, and then
remarked—"I think it's nearer the half oor; but it wadna dae to
contradict the minister!"

When staying in Maybole
over night, Jock used to sleep where there were two looms, a broad one
and a narrow; and Jock's interpretation of the sounds they made was this
: the broad one said, "I'm gaun to heevin! I'm gaun to heevin!" to which
the narrow one replied, " Idoot it I doot it!"

The children of
Kirkmichael are invited annually to Cloncaird Castle, where they are
regaled with a variety of good things. On one occasion Jock was there,
and was busy discussing a large piece of bread covered with jelly. A
message came that the ladies would like a tune on the fiddle from Mr
Aird. But Mr Aird had not finished his "piece." It was suggested that he
should put it into his hat as usual. "Na," said Jock, "it'll be safer in
my guts" and so continued the storage till it was finished.

Jock lived till he was
79, and was wonderfully active to the last, although his hearing was
impaired. The boys, however, could still rouse him by pointing to their
chins as they passed, and that was enough. "Old age ne'er cooled the
Douglas blood." The man with whom he was boarded said that for a day or
two before he died, "John was uncommonly wice, and ye wad hae thocht he
had got his senses back again." So be it—he has perhaps got his senses
back again now.

John Duff was
Town-officer of Girvan in my boyish days, and I can recollect him
ringing the bell on the street, and shouting out—"Gather unto me, all ye
ends of the earth!" On one occasion he is said to have turned his
intimation into rhyme thus:—

Fresh cod and saut cod,
|Mackerel and skate,
To be sold at Matthew Sloan's
At a reasonable rate.

A friend who kept a
licensed house once cautioned John with the old proverb—"Every glass you
drink is a nail in your coffin." The only effect on John was that next
time he came for his accustomed beverage, it was to inquire for "Tippence
worth o' coffin nails." On going round with the Parish minister in his
annual visitation (as was the custom then), John was getting visibly
intoxicated. Mr M'Master kindly remonstrated—"Now, John, you must take
care not to drink too much." "Na, na," said John, "that wad never dae.
Whatever we dae, Mr M'Master, we manna get fou."

I can distinctly remember
Jacky M'Cafferty, the Doune-park Schoolmaster, with his stately walk,
and his old blue dress-coat almost sweeping the ground. Jacky was one of
three handloom weavers who made an agreement that each should go in turn
to school, while the other two should work for his support. The
arrangement was carried out, and two of them got into prosperous
businesses in the town, while Jacky continued in the paths of learning.
The whisky, however, proved too much for him. And it is related that
when his little school assembled in the morning, and found the Master
"incapable", he used to give them a holiday, but not before asking two
of the bigger boys to assist him to the Desk, from which he recited the
customary Benediction! Peace be on him! With all his failings, he was a
general favourite.

Alexander M'Callum, or
"Lang Sandy" as he was familiarly called, was likewise one of our Girvan
originals. He was a weaver to trade, but never took kindly to that
branch of industry. He became famous first as a fiddler at weddings, and
used to make violins for sale. Then he took to the Antiquarian business,
and gathered a wonderful "fouth o' auld nick-nackets" which he delighted
in showing to visitors. Next, he came out'as an inventor, and planned a
torpedo boat. And, finally, he emerged as a Geologist and Guide to the
district, becoming acquainted with Sir Roderick Murchison, Hugh Miller,
and others, the first of whom named one of the Silurian fossils after
him.

And, to mention but one
more, Willie Maitland was long a trusted servant about Ardmillan. When
Lord Ardmillan returned to his old home as laird, Willie had great
difficulty in giving him his proper title, and usually styled him "Mr
Jeems." Lord Ardmillan was very short-sighted, and a poor hand at the
gun. One day Willie and he had been out together, and shot after shot
had been fired in vain. At last, they came upon a covey sitting close
and thick upon the stubble. Fearful lest they should escape, Willie
counselled that he should let drive at them where they were. His
lordship accordingly "let drive," but not a feather remained. Willie's
patience was sorely taxed, but he simply remarked—"Heth, Mr Jeems, but
ye gar'd thae yins shift their quarters!" On another occasion, he had
got tired following his lordship, and on its being proposed to try "just
one field more," he replied—"Well, Mr Jeems, I see nae use in 't; but ye
can gang yourser, and I 'll sit doon and hae a smoke till ye come back!"

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